A few years ago, I had a line from T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets tattooed down my leg. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever read—at the still point of the turning world—which completely consumed me then (and now, still). Perhaps it was because I craved stillness. I was chasing, always. Running ... Read More
The Eye is Not Satisfied with Seeing
A predictable topic for the inaugural 2022 post would've been one on 2021 reflections or New Year manifestations, but I was sick for the better part of the week and quite frankly, in no mood (much less in any condition) to tap into the vulnerability or earnestness required for introspection. ... Read More
Ink Dreams
Some art I loved from an early Thursday evening spent wandering the LACMA alone—one of my favorite things to do when I'm feeling stuck (or having a mild case of the writer's blues). This time I was drawn to lines. Inky hues, too. . . . xx ... Read More